Chance Encounter
by dest-unknown
Summary: "She couldn't help it, you know. The way he seemed to creep into her mind, ever so easily, whenever she wore the locket." "Tom wondered when and how things had spun so far out of control."


Disclaimer: Any characters, settings, or plots in this story are not mine; everything belongs to the fabulous J.K. Rowling; I won nothing.

Dedication: Written for Alassea Riddle for the Gutter City Tomione Convention Tomione Fic Exchange on July 1st, 2012

She couldn't help it, you know. The way he seemed to creep into her mind, ever so easily, whenever she wore the locket. It was if their minds had merged, and all her thoughts were an open book, waiting for him to pick up and read at his leisure.

She did try to stop it. She had taken to wearing the necklace on top of her clothes, trying not to let it touch any skin. That worked for a while. Until the locket slipped just the tiniest bit one day, and brushed her neck. She felt like an electric jolt had run through her body, and instantly His voice filled her head again.

Hermione was still not quite used to his chilling smoothness with words, or the ease with which he could form them to, one moment, seemingly caress your skin in praise, or the next, hurl well-worded insults that hurt more than rocks. But, she remembered Harry- and Ginny- telling her about Tom Riddle's manipulative ways even before the Horcrux Hunt started.

She remembered lying bed in the Weasley house, sharing a room with Ginny. The girl mentioned would toss and turn all night, cry out and mutter, talk to an invisible person. Often times, this woke Hermione up. She would look around, curious and fascinated by her friend's behavior. Hermione knew that it must be post-traumatic stress disorder (or something along those lines) from the times when Ginny was inhibited by Tom Riddle.

Hermione learned a lot about Tom through Ginny. Well, as much as anyone could learn about Voldemort. He was extremely secretive; even during his teenage years. From what Hermione could tell, when Ginny was possessed, Voldemort had used the diary to learn about her, and the rest of the Weasleys, and especially Harry Potter.

And Ginny, poor, poor Ginny, had given him everything. She told him her troubles, and worries, and frustrations and doubts. She told him every secret she had seen or heard, every mistake she made, every time she failed an assignment or Professor Snape yelled at her in Potions.

And Tom fed off it all.

Hermione shivered at the thought. Voldemort's horcruxes seemed almost leech-like. She glanced warily at the innocent looking locket hanging around her own neck. It seemed fine now, but that didn't mean much.

She just hoped Harry would return soon. He had gone to a nearby town for some fresh food (now that they had obtained a bit of money) but Hermione knew it would take him a while to get there and back. The duo was cautious of using magic, especially powerful magic like Apparation. They didn't want to risk Voldemort or any of his dreadful followers catching them.

Fortunately, minor spells were acceptable, so at least they could use basic magic to clean themselves and their clothes. But anything major like Apparating was out of the question.

So, Harry had volunteered for the two mile (there) and two mile (back) walk. Hermione had winced when she thought of how sore his feet would be when he returned, and was secretly glad he had offered to go.

However, she had more pressing matters to attend to at the moment. Hermione had decided that since she was "the brains" of the group, it was her responsibility to at least attempt to coax the locket open. So far though, all her reading and research was pointless. Even the Dark Arts book on horcruxes was no help. It only talked about how to increase Dark magic abilities, and what wizards should do to fine tune their Dark magic spells and skills.

Hermione had no such interests in these things- none that she admitted to herself, anyway. Really, it wasn't her fault that she had an insatiable curiosity. Only when she was in the deepest thralls of unconsciousness, only when she was so fast asleep that reality seemed a dream, only then would Hermione admit to herself that the Dark Arts fascinated her. And Tom- in the form of the locket- knew this. He knew her every weakness. He would crawl inside her mind like a parasite and feed off her memories, then, when it was Harry's turn for the locket, he would leave. Bloated. Stuffed.

The thought repulsed Hermione, and again she shuddered, standing up and walking across the tent and grabbing a blanket from Harry's bed before returning to her own. She now sat huddled on her little cot, one of Mrs. Weasley's old quilts wrapped around her as a weak form of comfort. Of course, this did nothing to delude Hermione. She had grown up a lot in the past few years. She knew that running to her mum during a storm wouldn't make the thunder less loud; she knew that cowering under her covers in the middle of the night would not stop the monsters from finding her.

In fact, this passive attitude-cowering and huddling, this skulking in the shadows, hoping the Death Eaters won't find and attack them- would not do. No, not at all. Hermione suddenly sat up straighter, resolved. She would find a way to beat this stupid horcrux once and for all. After all, how hard could it be? She just needed the right information.

Glancing at the locket that was nestled in between the covers of her bed she hesitantly reached out towards it. What was that saying again? Oh yes. Know your enemy. Well that was exactly what Hermione was going to do. Steeling herself, she snatched up the locket from the cot's shabby bedspread and, in one fluid movement, placed it over her head and around her neck. Then, concentrating with all her being, she imagined. Hermione imagined reaching out, forcing the connection between her and Tom to become a two-way line. And then, unexpectedly and unplanned, she felt a tug. And just as unexpectedly, she was pulled into Slytherin's locket. With a dull thump, Hermione's body fell sideways onto the bed, her head hitting the pillow dully.

Although her physical body was still in the tent, her mind had travelled somewhere else. Somewhere sinister and dangerous and where there was little chance of escaping unscathed. But of course, she didn't know the dangers ahead. There was no chance of her knowing until it was too late.

()

This…this was not supposed to happen. Deep inside the heart of Salazar Slytherin's locket, the horcrux of Tom Marvolo Riddle, Jr. frowned. She was not supposed to be able to block their connection. That took telepathic powers...Tom's eyes widened as he calculated how much power that would take. Her will alone was strong, but coupled with her skill in magic it seemed almost impossible. Quickly, he rechecked the figures in his head, but they came up the same.

So. It seemed he had a genius on his hands. Tom scoffed. Geniuses were so overrated; everyone thought they were cleverer than they really were. Take Albus Dumbledore for example- the old coot was heralded for hi speeches of love, and unity. Well, everyone knows that the best way to rule is using fear not love. What did Machiavelli say…? "Since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved." Wise words, he thought approvingly.

Hopefully he could teach this Mudblood her proper place-no matter how high her IQ, she was still born of disgraceful blood and deserved to be treated as such. An smirk began to tug at the sides of Tom's lips, slowly growing as he realized how he could turn this situation to his advantage.

Since Hermione had blocked him out of her head, there was only one thing left to do. Bring her into his domain, and retrieve the answer himself. Oh yes. This would be fun.

The only sign of Tom's slight psychological break was the mad glint in his eyes, the fierce burning within. And, as everyone knows, the eyes are the window to the soul.

()

That...that was not supposed to happen, Hermione thought as she looked around, disoriented. She was supposed to block Tom-Voldemort, she admonished herself, horrified as she recalled how often she had been calling the Dark Lord by his childhood name- from her mind only. But now look what happened, she though, annoyed.

No doubt the spell had been botched somehow. She should have known better than to mix some of her magic in with her imagination, especially with something so risky. Who knows what could have gone wrong? Hermione realized how lucky she was to still be alive and sane, and gave a quick thanks to Lady Luck.

Unfortunately, she had no idea where she was. Looking around at her surroundings, she saw she was in what looked like a luxurious living room, complete with plush velvet couches and loveseats. The lighting was low in this room but she could see the crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling lining an adjacent hallway, and a marble fireplace was placed in the center of the room for optimum heat distribution. In the fireplace roared a crackling fire. Instead of being reassured by the warmth the fire was providing, she was unnerved. It gave off a malignant air, and as Hermione drew closer she noticed that the flames were tinted an unnatural green hue instead of the usual merry combination of red, orange, and gold flames.

Slowly, Hermione backed away from the fire, knowing no good could come from it. As she was walking backwards, she bumped into something. Something tall and lean, and something vaguely humanoid shaped…Oh no. No no no. Hermione had an inkling of what-or who- she would find behind her, and did not at all want to turn around, but knew that she would have to face her demon either way. So she did. And it was even worse than she could have imagined.

()

He crept up behind her as she stood staring at the fireplace. She was just turning away, moving back. Tom gave a small smile; so she could sense the fire's Dark magic as well. Good. Maybe that meant she was more susceptible to falling prey to the Dark Arts.

His thoughts of converting her from her goody-two-shoes-ness were interrupted by a gasp. Seeing as he had not yet opened his mouth, the sound was obviously coming from Hermione. Tom wrinkled his nose in disgust; how could she not have figured this out? Apparently Potter's Mudblood wasn't as smart as he had previously assumed.

He stilled for a split second when she turned to face him though. Well well. Perhaps Potter did have some taste after all. The girl wasn't completely horrid looking. She was delicate, almost, and looked so scared that for a fleeting moment, he felt something like sympathy for the girl. With revulsion, he banished the thought. This was the girl who had thwarted his plans too many times to count and now she was here, in his locket, trapped. The thought pleased him to no end.

Then, finally noticing that Hermione was still gaping at him in a most unbecoming fashion, Tom swept into a low bow in front of her.

"Tom Riddle. And you are…?" He asked pleasantly, flashing his bright white teeth in an enticing smile.

"I'm Hermione." The girl's voice was monotone, and Tom was surprised at how cool and detached it sounded.

"Pleasure to meet you, Hermione." Tom said, his voice tinged with frustration at the girl's lack of response. She had to know who he was. He- the Darkest Lord ever to live. The one she spent her life trying to kill. He snickered. What a sad task. Attempting to kill the un-killable. Pathetic.

When Hermione still made no move to answer him, he decided to try, ah…more _forceful _methods, shall we say.

Snatching Hermione's wrist, he pulled her hand up and kissed the back of it. "I said," he growled, "Pleasure to meet you, _Hermione._" This time he clearly saw the flicker of fear run through her eyes. But it was not enough. Tom tapped his chin contemplatively. "I think," he began, "I think that you need to be taught some manners. Immediately."

Faster than Hermione could see, Tom's wand was out and aimed at her. All she heard was "Night night, Miss Granger," before Hermione fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

()

Upon re-awakening in what Hermione presumed to be Salazar's locket, she was less than impressed. Perhaps it was the fact that she had already oohed and ahhed at all the glamour of the tiny locket- or maybe it was because she was tied to a chair in the elegant room she first discovered.

Again, she was not alone.

This time however, she got a clear look at the boy who had imprisoned her. He had pale skin and dark, striking eyes-eyes that could captivate and mesmerize you until you were little more than a pile of dust beneath his withering gaze. He had thick dark eyebrows that were somewhat covered by his startlingly messy hair. Judging by the rest of the boy's ripped clothing (black trousers and a currently un-tucked white Oxford shirt with a tie askew on top) this was not a normal occurrence.

Hermione, on the other hand, was actually the cleaner of the two (which was surprising given that she had been travelling the English countryside for weeks in order to hunt and kill horcruxes). She was in a full Muggle clothing; the better to blend in. Jeans and a plain black cotton t-shirt with a stolen knit sweater were her choice of clothes for the day.

They were about as similar as a square and a circle, yet the boy and girl made no mind to their obvious differences though.

"You know this will never work," the girl snarled viciously. She was sitting (well, that term is used rather lightly-more like harshly forced into some cruel semblance of a sitting position) on a wooden chair, her hands bound behind her to the back of the chair with a glimmering golden rope. Every time she tried to move, the rope tightened minutely. Her face was turning slightly blue from lack of circulation.

Tom, who was crouched down in front of Hermione, responded mildly. "What won't work?"

"This. Whatever you're trying to do here. It's not going to work." She spat back, her aggressive demeanor meeting his passiveness and clashing.

Quickly Tom stood, startling Hermione. He eyed her as he slowly walked around the chair where she was tied. He stood behind her, hands pressing lightly on her shoulders.

"Are you sure about that, Hermione?" Tom asked, bending down to whisper in her ear. Said girl shuddered as his warmth breath hit the back of her neck.

"P-Positive." Damn. She hated the way her voice got caught. She hoped he wouldn't notice- who was she kidding? Of course he noticed. Eve n though she couldn't see his face she knew he must be smirking.

And Tom was smirking. Ha. He knew he had gotten to her. It wasn't her fault, not really. Females just couldn't help but be enticed by his dashing good looks, and smooth voice. It's not like a pathetic little Mudblood who was so easily apprehended would be the exception.

"You know I do have ways of making people talk. Better ways than torture." As he was saying these words, his hands slowly started massaging her shoulders and Tom couldn't help but notice her drawing in a ragged breath. Oh, this was too easy.

"You can't stop me, Hermione." His voice wrapped like velvet around her, and it was hard…so hard to resist him. "I know you. You're the bookworm, the third part of the so-called Golden Trio," here he sneered the name, "and you," he trailed a kiss down her face with each word, "can't. Resist. Me."

There. Tom leaned back, satisfied. He knew changing tactics was a good idea. Who needs blunt insults when you can cleverly seduce your enemy, luring them in closer and closer until finally snapping the cage closed.

()

Hermione herself was having a hard time breathing. She knew it was obvious. But why? Surely she shouldn't be so turned on by him. This man tried to murder her best friend-multiple times. He killed thousands. But at the same time, Hermione recognized that this wasn't the man who had carried out all those terrible deeds- this was a part of his soul. From when he was somewhere in his 20s.

It was all so different facing Voldemort in person, but realizing that he wasn't Voldemort, just a small piece of him. Then a thought struck her.

"Why are you so interested in me?" She demanded, rather forcefully. It was apparent that he was taken by surprise by her question by the way his mouth opened slightly. "Why not Harry? Or Ron? Why…? Oh." She suddenly understood.

Tom snapped back, losing his confused expression. "Now she gets it. Bravo to the Mudblood. Five points to the Gryffindork."

"That's-that's just-"

"Despicable? Evil? No, not really," Tom answered sincerely. "Not compared to my other schemes."

"So you're the one that drove Ron away and now, what? You hope to drive a wedge between Harry and I by seducing me? It won't work you know!" Hermione's voice had grown higher and higher with each word until she was shrieking at Tom.

Infuriatingly, he just smirked again. Hermione's bound hand itched to wipe that sly smile off his face. And then her thought was interrupted a pair of lips being crushed to her own. After that, all mental process cut off, and she was lost in the very thing she had been denying herself all these years.

()

Why did he do that? Tom's thoughts were panicked. He hadn't meant to kiss her. He was just going to say something…he can't remember what he was going to say. Oh God, the effect that she had on him.

No. That wasn't right. He was supposed to be affecting her, not the other way around. As their kiss deepened, hindered by the bindings that tied Hermione to the chair, Tom wondered when and how things had spun so far out of control.

()

What was she doing? She knew better than to kiss him. This was her enemy, for Merlin's sake! And as much as it pained her, Hermione knew it had to end. Drawing up every ounce of her strength, she bucked forward, pushing Tom off of her and onto the ground. He looked up at her, hurt and stunned, as if not daring to believe she would actually do that. Then he masked his face into an expression of disgust.

"You stupid Mudblood. I'll show you-" Tom began, his normally handsome face twisted by hatred.

But Hermione had already vanished.

()

She didn't know how she had done it. One moment she was cowering in front of Tom- the next she was huddled under her blanket in the tent again.

"Hermione? Oh shit. Hermione, please wake up!" What? Why was someone shaking her? That voice. It sounded familiar.

"Harry?" Hermione cracked her eyes open, and staring back at her was a pair of bright green eyes, rimmed in glasses. She jumped up and threw her arms around his neck.

"Woah! Okay Hermione calm down." He was laughing as he said this though. "I just got back and you were slumped over on the bed and when I checked you weren't breathing. I thought I would have to take you to St. Mungo's," he said in relief.

Hermione was still hugging him but froze when she heard those words. "I wasn't…breathing? For how long?"

Harry's worried green eyes stared back at her, "I don't know," he admitted. "I only just got back."

Hermione forced a smile onto her face. Well that settles it. She wouldn't tell Harry about the locket or Tom. He was worried enough when he found her. Add to that worry the stress of the horcrux hunt and the looming fear of Voldemort- Hermione was positive that anything else would make him crack.

Hermione put on a brave face. "Well. Let's take a look at what you bought from town."

As Harry turned away, Hermione quickly took the locket off her neck and placed it on the rickety bedside table. She spared one glance at it, memories of her short time spent in the locket with Tom spinning in her head, then turned and walked out of the tent behind Harry.


End file.
